


Whatever Happens, I'll Leave It All To Chance

by QueridaMyDear



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anathema is anxious now that she doesn't have the book to guide her life, F/M, Newton wants to help her but isn't sure how, lots of spells, so she turns to witchcraft and spells, spells everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-09-01 01:31:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueridaMyDear/pseuds/QueridaMyDear
Summary: Newton wasn’t sure if the lavender bundles in every room was an offshoot of Anathema’s upbringing or not. He had his suspicions about the crystal collections scattered on every last surface in the cottage, but couldn’t bring himself to ask. Ever since Anathema had made the decision to stop being a Descendant, the lack of foresight and structure had her on edge. Uneasy. Terrified. She had wound up falling back hard on other habits gleaned from her upbringing. A tendency to collect crystals for their spiritual power. Crafting spells in little bottles that Newton was forever finding tucked away onto shelves, in his car, outside the front door, and inside his sock drawer. He didn’t mind it, not if it calmed her down and brought her comfort. But she seemed to be spiraling. Losing control.





	Whatever Happens, I'll Leave It All To Chance

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by this super cute art!](https://doodlydan.tumblr.com/post/186991192621/bath-time-please-do-not-repost-my-art-without)

Newton wasn’t sure if the lavender bundles in every room was an offshoot of Anathema’s upbringing or not. He had his suspicions about the crystal collections scattered on every last surface in the cottage, but couldn’t bring himself to ask. Ever since Anathema had made the decision to stop being a Descendant, the lack of foresight and structure had her on edge. Uneasy. Terrified. She had wound up falling back hard on other habits gleaned from her upbringing. A tendency to collect crystals for their spiritual power. Crafting spells in little bottles that Newton was forever finding tucked away onto shelves, in his car, outside the front door, and inside his sock drawer. He didn’t mind it, not if it calmed her down and brought her comfort. But she seemed to be spiraling. Losing control. Panicking now that there wasn’t a book to guide her every action and every thought. The drying herbs in the kitchen were very Aesthetic, and while it wasn’t his own Aesthetic, he thought the sight of Anathema in the kitchen, surrounded by bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling, was very Instagrammable. He would’ve taken a picture if he was able to use a mobile phone without it shocking him then catching fire.

Anathema was mumbling to herself, consulting a very large, very old book about witchcraft with the same yellowed, aged pages she’d grown up reading and touching in _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies_. It was comforting and familiar, right down to the Old English, though the changes in language since this book had been published did make it hard to read and somewhat frustrating (which was also comforting and familiar, being so frustrated with an old book jibbering nonsense at her).

The kitchen island had a large bottle right in the middle, all manner of plants Newton didn’t recognize scattered around on top of a cloth, a mortar and pestle resting in front of Anathema as she ground out some leaves or herbs. Smelled herby. But she didn’t look calm like she did when she’d first started this. She looked panicked. The placebo of the witchcraft book and her old skills didn’t seem to he helping anymore. 

“Sage for purification and strength,” Anathema muttered, carefully tipping the ground sage from her mortar into the jar, then setting it back down heavily, her eyes wide and frantic. Newton could see that the bottom of the jar was already covered in several pieces of some black stone. 

“Pennyroyal for-” Anathema looked around her table, at her various herbs and crystals, a moment of utter panic coming over her face. “Where’s my pennyroyal??”

She finally spotted Newton, watching her with a concerned look to him, from the living room doorway. 

“Newt! Where’s my pennyroyal??”

They both knew he couldn’t tell pennyroyal from poison ivy.

“I don’t know, Anathema. But I think maybe you should… Stop?” He suggested, and she stared at him, eyes wide, as if he’d suggested maybe they hadn’t actually stopped the Apocalypse and the Horsemen had texted him to let him know they were on their way for a Round Two.

“I’ve already started! I can’t just… Stop! Then it won’t work, it won’t activate, and- And, and, and…” She shook her head and started her search again for her pennyroyal.

Newton watched her search the cupboards and the hanging herbs once, twice, growing more and more frustrated at her lack of progress until her anger and cries of frustration turned to watery eyes and a helpless, pleading expression.

“I just… I wanted to keep us safe. So much has happened, and I… I-I don’t know what else is going to happen!” Her hands shook, feeling the ghost of Agnes’ book and the familiar texture of the index cards, the tops worn soft from years of her and her family leafing through them. Neither of them were in her hands but she could feel them, and their absence was terrifying.

“Anathema,” Newton gently took her hands in his, feeling them tremble. He wanted so badly to help her, to assuage her fears somehow, but he didn’t know what to do. “When I say you should stop, I don’t mean completely. I don’t mean no more spells ever, or crystals on the coffee table. I just mean… Less. You’re completely consumed by this. The kitchen is consumed. There’s herbs everywhere!” 

He waved an arm dramatically to gesture at the hanging bunches of herbs and accidentally proved his point, his arm bumping into a bundle of drying lavender, the motion of it sending lavender buds flying into his hair. It made Anathema giggle softly though, and he was willing to put up with any amount of humiliation to make her smile and feel calm again. 

“If this makes you feel better, I support you completely. If this spell here is absolutely necessary, we can go out and find some pennyworth-” “Pennyroyal.” “Yes, pennyroyal. We’ll get some. Together. But not right now. The spell can wait.”

Anathema started to argue, but the words wouldn’t come to her. She glanced over at the jar, the bottom filled with obsidian, sage scattered over the top. She nodded slowly. It… It could wait. 

“Okay. Good! Um. Something calm, something calm… A bath?”

Newton had gone to their bedroom to get changes of clothes for them, and returned, finding Anathema had covered the toilet seat in jars containing various herbs to add to their awaiting bath water. On the windowsill sat a massive rose quartz (he was rubbish at identifying herbs, but he was starting to get the hang of the crystals) beside a small cactus, a gift from one of the friends they’d made while saving the world. Against all odds, the cactus seemed to thrive in the humid bathroom with inadequate light through the frosted bathroom window, as if it was kept alive through some sort of supernatural force, or fear of a fate worse than a dim humid bathroom.

Anathema was consulting one of her smaller books on witchcraft, mumbling to herself and turning to her jars, shuffling through them to pick out the herbs she wanted. She was surprised to find Newton standing there, a change of clothes in his arms, one of his own shirts on top, the one Anathema liked to wear from the first and last computer convention Newton had visited, before he tried a computer set up for test purposes and fried every last computer in the city.

He set their clothes aside and held out his hand, silently asking for the book. Anathema pouted and handed it over, crossing her arms petulantly. But rather than tossing it out of the bathroom as she’d expected, she realized he was flipping through the book.

“Okay… H-How do I do this? Just… Throw them in there?” He asked. He’d watched her many times, but he’d never interacted with her herbs or jars or stones himself. Anathema’s expression softened. She stood beside him and looked at the page he’d opened to. Herbs for calm. She smiled, laughing gently.

“It’s enough to just throw them in. Or you can visualize your intent, and concentrate on it while you throw them in.” Anathema wanted to pull out some of the jars she had on hand that were listed, but she kind of wanted to see which ones he’d pick himself.

“Okay. Visualize your intent. Um. Do I think it or say it out loud?” He was honestly terrified. He’d never done this before. But it was working. Anathema didn’t look so frazzled now, just smiling as Newton floundered.

“Either way works. I think I’d like to hear you say it out loud, though.”

Newton nodded and searched the jars, pulling out a jar of tiny white flowers. He opened the lid and poured some into his hand, carefully consulting the book.

“Um. Ch-chamomile, to calm the mind a-and relieve anxiety.” He announced to the bathtub, scattering the dried flowers among the bubbles and hot water. He looked to Anathema for approval. She stood there, smiling at him. Hopefully he wasn’t doing this wrong.

“Let’s see, um… Lavender!” He tipped the jar into his palm and sprinkled them into the water. “For relief from tensions.”

Anathema smiled, her heart aching a little in her chest, though it was a pleasant sort of ache as she watched Newton dig for the next herb.

“And Valerian, for- oh, that smells awful!” Newton gasped, upon opening the jar. Anathema giggled sharply as he wrinkled his nose and quickly closed the jar, shoving it to the very back of the toilet seat as though it were banished.

“Okay, not that one.” Newton scrubbed at his nose, but the smell lingered. “How about… Lemon Balm. To reduce stress.”

Newton added the last of the leaves to the bath and closed the book, setting it aside. He held out his hand to Anathema and she took it, walking the few steps to stand in front of him. She reached up and removed his glasses and he removed hers, both of them setting the glasses down carefully. They disrobed and got into the tub, both of them settling into the water.

Anathema sighed contentedly, the light scents of the herbs wafting up from the hot water.

“Good thing you didn’t put the valerian in, this wouldn’t have been quite so nice.” She laughed softly. Newton laughed as well and nodded, watching as the stress seemed to melt away from her as she sank further into the water. She dipped her head back into the water to soak it, coming up with some suds on her ear and a few chamomile flowers in her hair. 

“I know I’ve been overdoing it with the spells. It’s silly, isn’t it?” She asked, her carefree expression suddenly gone, looking a little embarrassed in its place.

“I don’t think it’s silly.” Newton shook his head. “You lived your whole life by that book. And now you’ve reached the end and… And you don’t know what to expect. You’re trying to find other ways to control what happens since you don’t know.”

Anathema’s eyes widened in surprise, hearing the anxious thoughts that had been bouncing around in her head put into words. It was a little embarrassing to hear it laid out like that. She pulled her legs to her chest, looking away, but all she caught sight of were the jars on the toilet seat.

“Damn. You figured me out, huh.” She murmured, humiliated to be so open and raw. “I just… This is the first time in my life that I haven’t known what was going to happen. I don’t… I don’t know what to do!”

She smacked the surface of the water, her hands grasping at ghosts again, feeling the worn spine of the book in her hand, the initial sensation of relief starting to crawl over her. She just had to open the book and see what was going to happen… But the book wasn’t there. The book was over.

Newton hurriedly took her hands in his again, distracting her grip on the ghost book. This time she curled one hand over his, squeezing, scared by all the unknown days that were coming. Newton didn’t know quite how to help her transition into a life that wasn’t guided by the book.

“I… I don’t know what to do either, honestly.” He admitted. He’d opened this can of worms and felt responsible for helping to see her to the end of it. But he didn’t know what the next step was. He’d never before met a person whose whole life had been guided and ruled by a 350 year old book of prophecies. He’d never met _anyone_ like Anathema. He wanted to help her, but he was just as stuck as she was.

Anathema noticed Newton’s gaze starting to become unfocused, his eyebrows knitting together in that particular way they did when he was thinking too hard. This was a new situation for both of them, but he was trying to fix it on his own. 

She dipped her hands into the water, cupping some foam dotted with dried flowers in them, and held them in front of Newton’s face, gently blowing the bubbles at him. He sputtered, surprised by it, blinking at her in confusion. Anathema just grinned, seeing the dried lavender buds stuck to his chin, a chamomile petal on his nose.

“Chamomile to calm the mind and reduce anxiety,” Anathema repeated what he’d said as he’d prepared the bath for them. She picked a stray lavender bud from his cheek and rinsed it off her hand in the water. 

“Lavender, for relief from tensions.” She picked more flowers from his face, pausing when he set his hand over hers to hold it against his cheek for a moment, feeling her soft fingertips graze his skin, his anxieties about helping her melting away for the moment.

“And Lemon Balm,” She finished, his cheek clear, as she scooted closer in the tub, “To reduce stress.”

“But no Valerian,” Newton said, showing off his newfound knowledge, arms going around her waist to hold her close as she lay against his chest. He leaned back against the rounded back of the tub, the gentle scent of the dried flowers calming and soothing them both, reminding them they just needed to take this one day at a time.


End file.
